


Speaking Off the Record

by acidano



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Canon Compliant, Coma, Comatose Steve Rogers, Death from Old Age, Feelings, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, Not A Fix-It, Not Beta Read, Old Steve Rogers, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad with a Sad Ending, Swearing, Tragedy, Unrequited Love, Whump, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, actually makes things worse somehow, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 13:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidano/pseuds/acidano
Summary: “I guess five years was all you needed to move on from me. Couldn't move on from her, though, could you?”Or: Steve abandoned Bucky at the end of Endgame, Bucky wants to know why.





	Speaking Off the Record

**Author's Note:**

> I was really pissed at Steve after Endgame so I had Bucky say everything I was thinking. 
> 
> Stucky is cancelled. From now on, we ship T’Chucky in this house.

_Beep. Beep. Beep_

The heart monitor on the side of Steve’s bed beeps at an even pace, but the elderly man in front of Bucky lies so still he could be mistaken for dead. His eyes are closed, oblivious to the world around him; oblivious to the small, white hospital room he’s laying in, to the pile of flowers and get-well-soon cards stacked on the round table in the far corner of the room, and to Bucky, sitting in a white, plastic chair right next to his cot.

“Hey Steve,” he greets the unconscious man, not expecting an answer but still upset that Steve didn’t miraculously awaken to answer him. Then again, he’s not sure what he’d do if Steve did wake up.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Bucky looks up from his clasped hands. He wants to look Steve in the eye, but he settles with locking his gaze onto the thin, clear tube that doctors had put behind his ears and under his nose. ‘Nasal cannula’ the doctors had called it, saying it would help Steve breathe whilst unconscious. Honestly, Bucky has no clue what any of the fancy machines surrounding Steve are for, but he trusts the doctors’ words, and if they say it’ll help, he believes it.

“Y’know, what you did was kinda…” he trails off. He wants to scream at Steve, to grab him by the shoulder and shake him awake even though he knows it wouldn’t work. How would he even want Steve to respond if he did wake up? 

_Beep. Beep. Beep_

The beeping becomes incessant and Bucky has to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip to keep from standing abruptly and throwing the monitor to the other side of the room. 

“Shit, Steve,” he murmurs instead, still closing his eyes and furrowing his brow. “I mean hey, I get it. Peggy was cute, you missed her. I guess it was just too much to ask for you to have moved on, huh?”

_Been. Beep. Beep._

“That’s okay. I understand. I guess if I were you, and you were… you were Peggy…”

He clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck. A warmth flows into his cheeks for no reason because Steve can’t hear him. Right? 

“Hey man, if you can hear me, pretend you can’t, ‘kay?”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He chuckles softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His metal arm’s elbow is resting on his thigh and his hand is dangling between his legs. He looks at the black metal and tightens his hand, fixated on the golden lines covering the limb. It’s nice, way nicer than the arm Hydra gave him. That arm was heavy, the connection crude and pinching where metal meets flesh, and he couldn’t actually _feel_ with that arm. He knew when the arm was experiencing external contact, but he didn’t feel it like he did with his other one. There’s a difference between knowing and feeling

Shuri fixed that. She made him an arm that _feels_ like an arm. Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he never lost it in the first place. 

She’s smart. Stark would’ve liked her.

He doesn’t look up from the hand, his other still pressed against his neck. “Do you think he forgave us?” 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“I’m not sure, myself,” he sighs, moving the hand from his neck to his jaw, propping his other elbow on his knee. “I mean, he clearly forgave us more than I expected. I wasn’t…” a prickle starts in the back of his eyes and he takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t expecting to be invited. To the funeral.”

It’s true. He wasn’t expecting it at all; so when he got a call from Sam asking where he was, well…

“I didn’t even have a suit.” He laughs and blinks rapidly, trying to dispel the liquid that’s pooling at his eyes. “I had to wear a leather jacket.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Yeah, I know, I know. You were there, you saw, but…” he sniffles, “You weren’t with us. Sam and… shit what’s her name… the redhead?” He snaps his metal fingers. “Wanda. Her and Sam. You, ah, you stood in the front. I get it, y’know. You were his friend at one point, and then his enemy but after… I guess you made up?” He dips his head and runs both his hands through his hair. 

It’s cleaner now than when he was the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t programmed to care for his health, then, and so his hair was constantly oily and matted. Now, however, his time in Wakanda has benefited greatly. Soft hair, manicured fingernails, clean skin; it’s nice, being cared for. “And look at me. I kill his parents, and I still get to pay my respects. I get to go to his funeral and I get to stand around all these people _—_ all these people who _loved him._ What the hell did I do to deserve that?”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He squeezes the fingers in his hair, tugging painfully at the roots. “What did _you_ do to deserve that?” The words have more bitterness behind them than intended, but he doesn’t take them back. 

Pulling his fingers from his hair, he sits up straight and stares at Steve’s eyelids. “You _owe_ me,” he growls. “You owe me an explanation — because _you left me._ You left me, Steve, and you didn’t even give me a reason before you closed your eyes and you—” his voice cracks and he doesn’t retrace his words, instead letting them dangle in the air with no one to witness them but him.

“Shit, Steve,” his throat is tight and wetness is flowing freely from his eyes now, tickling his cheeks as they pool under his chin and drop onto his hands. “Shit, I… when I saw you — you go into that machine, the look you gave me, I _knew._ I just _knew_ you were gonna leave me and I — I smiled, but…” He raises his right arm and wipes his tears with the back of his wrist. “But I knew it’s what you wanted.” His voice reaches a higher pitch at those words as he stares daggers at Steve through his tears. 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“I knew that’s what you wanted, and I thought — I thought I’d be okay with it. That I’d be able to move on like you couldn’t. I wanted to think about what would be best for you, not me — I wanted to do for you what you couldn’t do for me.”

He’s leaning over Steve’s cot, now, face inches from his own. His own tears are dripping down onto Steve, but he doesn’t care. “Because _I_ cared about _you_. And you know what’s stupid? I thought you cared about me, too.”

He barks a butcher of a laugh and moves his hands to wipe his tears from Steve’s face. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line. _Fucking lie_.”

Spittle sprays onto his face, counteracting the work of Bucky’s hands, but he still doesn’t move them. “I missed you, Steve, when we lost. I didn’t notice the gap in time, the five years, but you did, and that — that made me miss you.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“I guess five years was all you needed to move on from me. Couldn't move on from her, though, could you?” He moves his left hand to press a metal finger to Steve’s chest, poking it accusingly. “What, seventy years and you can’t forget about her? Steve, I’d do anything for you. _Anything_ , and you left me for her — for a woman who _moved on_. She moved on from you, but you — you can’t — you just —” he can’t think of the words to say and instead laughs with hurt.

He leans back and sits down onto the chair again, having rubbed off all the tears and spit from Steve’s face. He positioned himself similarly to how he was seated earlier, elbows on his knees and hands between his thighs. “That’s okay, though. I get it now — I’m second to her. I was never your number one, not after you met her.” He scoffs, “It fucking hurt, when I saw you on that bench. It’s why I told Sam to go ahead, ‘cause if I walked over, if I had to talk to you… I don’t know If I’d cry or scream or… I don’t even know.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He sniffs again and rubs the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“You left me, Steve.”

_Beep._

“You left _me_ for a woman who left _you_ behind.”

_Beep._

“Honestly, it shouldn’t hurt so much.”

_Beep._

“But it does.”

_Beep._

“Because I love you, Steve.”

_Beep._

“I loved you.”

_Beep._

“And you _never_ loved me back.”

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Bee—..._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry
> 
> ([Tumblr](https://anizora.tumblr.com))


End file.
